


The Alternatives

by Cosmic_Biscuit



Category: Marvel Adventures: Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, Space-Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Biscuit/pseuds/Cosmic_Biscuit
Summary: The timelines never touched, the lives never lived. They don't have anything to do with us... do they? After all, it's not like we ever have to see the possibilities that never happened.





	The Alternatives

**Author's Note:**

> An old story revived from livejournal and cleaned up by request.

Opening his eyes, he blinked in confusion at the soft, nondescript music that surrounded him like a heavy blanket.

He was standing in some sort of... hell, he wasn't sure what to call it. Parlour? Foyer? Reception room? Wherever he was, it sure as hell wasn’t _his_ room, and he wasn’t in _his_ bed, and the longer he waited, the more cloying the music felt and the deeper the sense of unease that fluttered in his heart got. Finally, he turned to go -surely, walking out the door would put him back where he'd come from. _Maybe_ \- but just as he turned, there was a sharp _warp_  of space in the air, and-

"Good evening, sir! Or morning, or whatever it may happen to be for you."

He took a step back, startled, metaphorical ruffled feathers smoothing as he regarded the short, thin, unfamiliar man that had appeared in front of him. "Who are you? And where is _this?_ "

"Ah, a new customer, always a pleasure to have one of those.” The stranger adjusted wire-rimmed glasses and then smiled behind a bushy grey mustache. “If you'll follow me?"

Mystified and more than a little suspicious, he followed the man down a long hallway -that he was quite sure _hadn't_ been there just a moment ago- to a massive, and probably very heavy door. Eyeing the intricate carvings, he was very sure that the sense of unease had just grown again. The stranger, apparently picking up on his discomfort, grinned broadly.

"Oh, don't worry, sir. It's always a bit overwhelming the first time," he said, hauling the doors open with surprising ease.

"First time? What do you mea-" He cut off, voice dying in his throat as he was pulled to the first row of shelves and saw what they contained.

 

 _People_.

 

Lined up like dolls, eyes closed as though they were sleeping, were figures he knew and figures he didn't, _multiples_ of them, costumes and civilian clothes arrayed across the expanses of carved wood. "What the hell _is_ this place?" he asked.

"A shop of time, of course," the other man replied, as though he were just giving the name of the corner grocery store. "Presents, pasts, futures, we make them all and offer them up. And since you're here," the stranger continued, dragging him off by the arm before the shock had worn off. "I can only assume it's for a companion, like most of our customers. The Carter model is a potential match, or the Wil-"

Finally regaining his wits, he dug in his heels just enough to make the man stop. " _Companion_? There must be some mistake, I'm already involved with someone."

That got him an arched eyebrow in return, and he suddenly fought the urge to fidget.

"Is that so? Well, let's just see here," the stranger said as some sort of brightly-painted clipboard and a deep red pair of reading glasses appeared in his hands, which he switched out with the ones he’d already been wearing before he began to flip pages. "Hm, no, not that one either, mmmnh... Ah. One of _that_ model."

His eyes narrowed at the derisive tone. "What do you mean, ' _that_ ' model?"

"Oh, nothing at all. Now, over here, we have some-" 

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain yourself, buddy," he replied flatly, and the man sighed as the glasses poofed out of existence.

" _Fine._ Cogs, you lot are always a handful. This way, please."

Even though the next warp through cold space felt as odd -maybe _worse-_ as the first, and the dark hallway was admittedly more than a little creepy, he was exceedingly glad to be going _away_ from the room with all the doll-like copies.

Or, at least, he _had_ been, until the lights went up. Then he just felt like being sick. Copy, upon copy, upon copy. From old man to child and back, scarred or pristine, blue eyed or brown... was Tony.

 

_Every._

 

_Last._

 

_One._

 

Side by side in little niches, stretching down the hallway as far as he could see in either direction before the shadows closed in. "These-"

"Are defective."

He turned to stare at the man. _"What?"_

"Each and every one of these has been returned." The reading glasses appeared again and the man put them back on before pointing out assorted tubes as he read from another inventory manifesto. "That one, failure of the liver due to alcoholism. If that hadn't killed him, the cancer certainly would have. This one over here, effectively committed suicide by wiping the harddrive of his brain. _This_ one didn't make it long at all, died of a gunshot. This one over here, oh, very unique case, erased himself from his timeline and was replaced by a younger model."

"But... that's normal, isn't it? Wouldn't that just mean everyone comes back here when they die?" Except for… Christ, how did one even erase themselves from time? He’d never heard of such a thing.

"Not in the slightest. When a model is 'returned', it's the will of those they knew in life."

He turned his attention back to the copies, and once he’d gotten a closer look, he had to swallow hard against the feeling of bile rising up in his throat. No matter the age, no matter the differences, they all stared back at him. 

And they all had the hollow, empty stare of someone _broken_.  

Someone who'd lost all hope... or lost everything they had. 

"It's... that's not possible. He's a good man, he-" 

"Is the most-returned model we've ever had. Chalk it up to the self-destructive nature, I suppose. He's a naturally hopeless match. You might as well return yours while you can and select something better suited. As our most problematic model, he tends to cause quite a bit of trouble before-" 

" _No._ " 

A surprised blink. "Beg pardon?"

"I don't... I don't _care_ what happened in the other worlds," he snapped.

 

It was a lie.

 

Each of those dead stares sent a spike through his chest, made his stomach heave, but there was nothing he could do for _them_ now. But by God, he could still- "I'm not just going to give him up because others couldn't stick it out. _We'll_ make it work."

"Hmph. So other variants of you said. But let me tell you something, young man. Whether it was illness, suicide, murder, or a cosmic cataclysm, the end result is always the same."

The air warped again, and everything went black around him as the man's voice echoed in his head.

 

" _One way or another, they_ all _end up back here._ "

 

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes flew open. The rational part of his mind told him that the jolt had just been the release of the sleep paralysis, but he was still gasping as he sat up in bed, the images swirling through his brain.

"Dream..." he muttered to himself as he raked his fingers through his hair, trying to get his nerves back under control. "It was just..."

But he couldn't shake the worry -since when had his imagination ever been _that_ creative?- and ended up rolling out of bed and stumbling out the door. Past Ororo's room, past Jan's, cursing the slowness of the elevator, barely glancing at the clock in the kitchen long enough to know that it was an ungodly hour to be awake. Which meant Tony was- 

-Still in the lab, thank God. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath the whole way down until he let it out again at seeing the man sleeping at one of the computer banks. Swallowing thickly, his nerves finally beginning to ease a little, he moved, first to check pulse, then to gently scoop the man into his arms to carry him back upstairs. 

He still couldn't be sure beyond all doubt that that... _place_ had just been in his head, frightening as that was. But he _was_ sure of one thing, and he quietly murmured the mantra to himself as he cradled his sleeping lover a little more tightly.

 

It wasn’t going to happen.

 

It wasn’t.

 

It _wasn’t._


End file.
